


when the war starts anew

by liesmyth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Time Shenanigans, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: Regulus couldn’t stop thinking of all you could do with a pen that wrote through time.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 20
Kudos: 119
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	when the war starts anew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeideal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/gifts).



> Written for the tag: "AU: with the right postage you can send letters anywhere"

> Item #307: fountain pen in 14k yellow gold, set with round rubies. Size 2 and 3/4 inches. Spelt to never run out of ink. Item is believed to be part of a matching set, with both components of the magically-bound pair able to communicate in writing through distance and time. The other half of the set could not be retrieved. Estimated value: 27 galleons. Item remains in the possession of the Black family.

– From an appraisal of the estate of Phineas Nigellus Black, compiled by Miss Sara Shafiq, solicitor, November 1925.

Regulus wrote beautiful essays. All of his teachers always said so, even McGonagall, and she certainly wasn’t as quick to compliment Slytherins as she was with members of her House, for all that her marks were always fair. When Regulus got his OWL results he’d got an E in History of Magic, the only one of his year, and the examiners added a note complimenting the distinctive quality of his answers. He had a way with words, always had, and now they were failing him.

He scratched his pen uselessly over the parchment. He wrote with a Muggle-style fountain pen, which would’ve won him scorn in the sort of circles he used to frequent if it hadn’t been a family heirloom: as it stood, the incantation placed by a dead ancestor on the pen made up for the plebeian nature of its origin. The rubies didn’t hurt, either.

 _To the Dark Lord,_ he wrote at the top of the paper. It was the fourth time he tried to write the message, and his hand shook slightly. _By the time you read this, I will already be dead._ He grimaced. _To the Dark Lord,_ he tried again. _I have found out…_ But no, that sounded silly. _I have destroyed your Horcrux..._ He picked at his nails, annoyed.

It was ridiculous how writing the damn letter was turning out to be nearly harder than carrying out the plan in the first place. He crumpled the piece of parchment and grabbed a fresh new sheet, hoping for inspiration.

“To the Dark Lord,” he muttered to himself. “I discovered your plan…” He brought the pen to the parchment again, annoyed and frustrated. He wished, vividly, that the pen would just write by itself so he didn’t have to do the job.

And then, surprisingly, the pen did just that.

  * _Thursday, Feb 2nd. Protection spells. Posture, core stability, magical intensity. Exercises: cast a Shield Charm as defence from common jinxes. Work up to the Confundus Charm, working in pairs._
  * _Tuesday, Feb. 7th. Practice duels, working in pair. Applying the Protego to defend ourselves against stunners…_



Regulus stared, eyed going wide as his pen sketched what looked like the Defense OWL curriculum under his half-assed attempt at intimidating the Dark Lord.

“Well,” he said to the empty room, not at all eloquently. Then he took out his wand. “Finite.”

The pen didn’t stop. _Friday, March 3_ , it wrote in a tiny neat hand that was miles away from Regulus’s practised calligraphy. _Practical applications of the Reducto in duelling–_

“Finite!” he tried again, to no avail. Then, annoyed and all out of patience, he lunged at it.

The pen went still in his grip. It lay immobile and inoffensive in his hand, and Regulus frowned down at it feeling rather ridiculous. Then, experimentally, he brought the pen down to the parchment again.

 _March 3rd was a Saturday actually_ , he wrote.

Then he waited.

Regulus counted to twenty in his head before the pen started fluttering in his hand, buzzing slightly like a racing broom just taken out of the box. He let it.

 _March 3 is in six weeks and it’s a FRIDAY. Last year it was a Thursday._ And then it wrote: _How did you charm my pen?_

That was… curious, to say the least. Maybe Regulus should be more suspicious, but he found himself strangely intrigued. _It’s August,_ he wrote. _I didn’t charm anything but my pen is a family heirloom. It’s probably got all sorts of weird magic on it._

_How can a pen be a family heirloom? Wizards use quills._

_It’s made of gold._

He hardly had to wait, a smile tugging at his lips. _Well that makes sense_ , the pen wrote. _So is mine. I found it at Hogwarts. I didn’t know it was real gold._ ‘Real’ was underlined twice, and Regulus grinned as he read. _Should have figured._

_Hogwarts is out for the summer here. Do I want to ask what year it’s for you?_

He shouldn’t. If the mysterious interlocutor on the other side of the parchment was writing from the past they’d only pester Regulus with questions about the future, and he would get nothing done today. Or maybe _they_ were writing from the future, and Regulus would be the one – he could feel the temptation growing. He shouldn’t. But what if he did?

Then the pen wrote. _You can ask if you want, but I’m not telling you. If you’re even real at all. Wizards shouldn’t meddle with time._

Regulus felt something much like fond annoyance. They were undoubtedly right, but did they have to say it like that? They sounded like Professor McGonagall giving warnings about the Animagus transformation.

_I could ask the same of you. How do I know you’re real and not just a jinx on my parchment?_

_Well, I know I’m real. My name’s Hermione. I’m not telling you my surname before you ask. _

_I’m not telling you mine either_. Regulus doubted his interlocutor’s family legacy was as cumbersome as his own. Everyone in Wizarding Britain knew the Blacks – unless they were a relative, Merlin save him. At least he knew for sure he wasn’t writing to old Phineas.

He bit his lip, considering. _My name’s Reggie_.

The reply came immediately. _Well I guess you just have to be a real person, with a name like that. I can’t see anyone using ‘Reggie’ as a fake name._

 _HEY!_ he was writing before he even stopped to think about it. _What’s that supposed to mean?_

He knew even as he was writing that Hermione sort of had a point. There was a reason why the only person to call him ‘Reggie’ had been Sirius when he’d wanted to be a prat, back when Regulus was someone deserving of his attention instead of his scorn. When Sirius had tried to be nice he’d called him ‘Reg’, which was marginally better, but Regulus had been trying not to think about his brother lately, anyways. Still, there were much worse names out there – Muggleborn children got stuck with the worst of the lot, plebeian _and_ plain, like Andromeda’s Ted, who might even be an alright bloke and not at all the horrible barbarian Regulus’s aunt believed him to be, but he certainly had the misfortune of sharing his dull name with half of Britain. On the other end of the scale, Purebloods sometimes got it almost as bad – Regulus thought of the names of some Malfoy cousins and shuddered. Or Bartemius Crouch at the Ministry; sometimes Regulus nearly felt bad for him.

The parchment still waited in front of him, covered in scribbles in two different handwritings. Regulus grasped the pen in hand and wrote, _You have no idea what sort of names are out there. My brother knows a fellow named Mundugus – now THAT’s bad._

Regulus didn’t think much of it when he didn’t get a reply right away, but then one minute turned into two which turned into five, and he began to worry. If anything, Hermione had been a pleasant distraction so far.

Biting his lip, he wrote again: _Are you still there?_

Yes, Hermione replied right away. There was another long pause, then: _Do you mean Mundugus Fletcher?_

Oh, he thought. So he and Hermione knew the same people. It didn’t have to be a big deal, he thought to himself, even as his mind whirred. Fletcher didn’t exactly associate himself with the sort of company Regulus was supposed to keep, but for some reason was he close to Dumbledore and his ilk. He wondered if Hermione was on the opposite side of the war. His arm itched – a reminder.

 _Sorry, sorry,_ Hermione was writing. _You don’t have to tell me a thing. I know I just said I didn’t want to know what year you’re writing from and now I’m being the nosy one. Sorry._

Regulus stared at the parchment, mind whirring. All the plans he shouldn’t consider had taken root in his head, and he couldn’t stop thinking of all he could do with a pen that communicated through time. If she was in the past – maybe he could tell her things, help her. And if she was in the future, well. Maybe she could help him.

 _So, are you at Hogwarts?_ Hermione was writing still. _You said it’s out for the summer…_

Regulus missed Hogwarts like an ache. It had felt different than the dim grandiosity of his family home, so much more colourful than the rest of his life. Less of the pressure, the heartbreak – his friends had been different there.

 _ _ _I finished last June,___ he wrote, the pen blotching the parchment in his rush. He’d ripped the corner with how much he’d been fussing with it _ _. _No more Hogwarts for me.___

And if that sounded a bit gloomy, well. It suited his mood.

 _ _ _Listen, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.___ He stopped, once again out of words _ _. _I’m sorry but I have to… I have to go do a thing.___

 _ _ _ _Of course,____ Hermione replied _ _ _. _I guess… don’t be a stranger? I liked talking to you.____

 _ _ _I liked talking to you too,___ Regulus meant it. Then he laid down his pen on the desk and burned the parchment to a crisp.

He went for a walk around London, hoping the drizzle would clear his head. His mother had tried to talk to him as he’d left, but he’d ignored it; he hadn’t even replied to Kreacker’s goodbye. That morning he’d woken up terrified out of his mind but resolute – he’d thought he knew what to do. Now endless possibilities opened in front of him. There was some nobility in the course he’d chosen, going out in a blaze of glory to make up for his past mistakes, but truly… Regulus didn’t want to die.

When he got back to the house the pen was still on his desk, lying innocently just where he’d left it _ _.__

"Please," he whispered to himself, then began to write.

Hermione replied right away.

 _ _ _Hello,___ she said. __Back so soon_?_

 _Yes_ , Regulus wrote. _Listen… I need some help. First of all, I’m trying to get rid of a cursed object…_

Outside, the sky began to clear.


End file.
